When I went to fetch my car, I was pleased with my new tires and their chunky tread. During the time I lived in South Africa we called tennis shoes "tackies", a name we also used for tires. I was pleased with my new tackies and their chunky tread. The new hub caps also looked great. But I wondered if he'd hung the steering wheel perfectly horizontal when he did the wheel alignment.
Hand / eye co-ordination is interesting. Looking at the road while holding the steering wheel, the pre-fixed patterning embedded in my hand / eye co‑ordination machinery told me it was off, dropped a quarter inch to the left. If I straightened the steering wheel, the car veered to the right. I'd have to take it back to the tire dealer to fix. Cursing a familiar expletive I vented frustration.
Actually there was another choice. I could take my car back to have the wheel alignment adjusted to level the steering wheel ... or ... I could simply live with the steering wheel a quarter inch off true horizontal. A steering wheel a quarter inch off true horizontal isn't intrinsically dangerous. I could tolerate it. Yet I had a constant pull, if you will, to turn the steering wheel to the level pre-fixed by the patterning embedded in my hand / eye co-ordination machinery. It was that pull, even more than the unlevel steering wheel, which I wanted gone.
I called the tire dealer to alert him that I may want the wheel alignment adjusted - the steering wheel hang in particular. I also told him I'd be driving to and from Santa Barbara soon, a round trip of approximately seven hundred and fifty miles with long stretches of straight, flat freeway and plenty of opportunity to live with the state of the wheel alignment, and to decide if the steering wheel hang had to be redone.
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